


Every Man Gets His Wish

by Alpine_strawberry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Actor Louis Tomlinson, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Dubious Consent, F/M, Forced Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Multi, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Sex Work, Singer Harry Styles, everything between the boys will be consensual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:54:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28182741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alpine_strawberry/pseuds/Alpine_strawberry
Summary: Harry is a singer. Louis is an actor. They are two of the hottest stars in the world right now, but they are both in the clutches of Hollywood’s darkest secret....Basically this is based on the concept that some celebrities do escort work on the side. I don’t know the extent of this in real life, but in this fic it is exaggerated, and not entirely consensual . Please don’t read if this sounds triggering or off-putting.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles/Other(s), Louis Tomlinson/Other(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have not abandoned my other fic! This idea just came to me and I have lots of time as I have Covid lol - title is a Lana del Rey song!

Harry Styles was the most wanted man in the world. It said so on the cover of People Magazine, right above a picture of him from a photoshoot he had done a year or two ago. It’s not the one he would’ve gone with, he thought as he put the magazine in his fireplace and watched the flames lick at the picture, the page curling and his face distorting horrifically. Harry took a bit of pleasure in that actually: his appearance was so carefully controlled, so vigilantly monitored.

Right now, Harry had an hour or so to himself before a black car would silently arrive and take him to see another ‘client.’ If he was lucky it would drop him off a few hours later, and he would have a bath and take a sleeping tablet. If he was less lucky, he would be driven home tomorrow morning, drenched in the cold light of day and the stench of someone else’s perfume.

Harry caught a lucky break when he was 16 and was signed to a record label and promptly catapulted into the public eye. He had been young and impressionable, and was quickly shaped into a teen heartthrob by a team of experts. Harry had enjoyed the success and all it’s trappings at first: his flashy London penthouse, all the attention, the screaming fans. Mostly though, he had just been excited to sing and to make music.

He had known nothing about the industry, however, and was surprised by the dark underbelly that soon revealed itself. It had all started at some party when he was 17, one of the big record execs leading him around by his waist and introducing him to everyone, showing him off. His grip had been a bit too tight, and all the people a bit too interested, cooing at Harry and touching him at every chance they had, hands pinching his cheeks, ruffling his hair, stroking up and down his back. Then, the exec had taken him upstairs, telling him that he was about to meet someone very important. Harry was led into a plush bedroom, where a middle aged woman was sitting on a sofa, drinking. She has cooed at Harry and petted him like the others, only this time the man introducing him had squeezed his waist even harder, leaning into his ear and instructing him in no uncertain terms to do what she said and be a good boy, or there would be consequences.

An hour later, the man came back to get Harry, and the woman had given him a gentle kiss, pressing some extra money into his hand and winking at him.  
‘He’s good, this one,’ she had said to the exec, and Harry was led back into the party as if nothing had happened. At the time Harry hadn’t thought it was too bad, still excited to have sex and enthralled by being an object of desire. It soon became clear to Harry that this was part of his job, something that was expected of him, and as he befriended other young stars he realised it wasn’t that uncommon. Actresses were flown out to Dubai for ‘dinner’ with millionaires, models paid to ‘attend events’ with rich old men, and young singers like himself were paid for their company by older men and women. No one could say anything, for fear of being dropped from contracts and rejected by the industry, shunned by those in power.

So Harry got used to it, and got good at it. By day he made the music he wanted to make, and by night he charmed the socks off his clientele, many of whom had become regulars. They mostly weren’t that bad, mainly middle aged divorced women who liked to be around him, liked the undivided attention of GQ’s sexiest popstar under 30. Harry personally preferred the company of men, though most of his male clientele were sleazy industry CEOs who liked the power trip of having Harry submit to their will, before going back to their wives and families.

Harry stared at his reflection in the mirror as he dragged a razor across his jaw. On the surface he looked flawless, his skin smooth and teeth white. Harry flashed a winning smile at himself before letting it drop, practicing putting on his mask. He just couldn’t get it to meet his eyes, hadn’t been able to since he was 17.

He spritzed himself with expensive cologne, giving himself a final once over before heading to his closet. He always felt like an actor getting ready to go on stage when he dressed for these dates. He was playing the part of Harry Styles, popstar. He was selling the fantasy: that he was so, so into you. That he would be there even if you weren’t paying, even if he wasn’t being closely observed by his handlers. And the rich old people ate it up. Harry would laugh with them, make all the right moves, slide his hand up a thigh or brush hair off a face, and they would pet him and caress him back. He would end up on his knees, face between their thighs; or splayed out on the bed, expensive clothes strewn across the floor. A few hours later, Harry would be five-hundred-thousand pounds richer, hunched over in his bath with a mug of chamomile tea and a handful of tablets. He used to cry after every encounter, but now he just stared at the wall until he felt drowsy enough to go to bed.

It was worse on tour, because he didn’t have the comfort of his own home to escape to. After a show he would be introduced to someone and given a nod by a handler, plastering on his signature smile and being corraled into a car with the client and taken to a strange hotel.

Harry checked his reflection one final time before going out to the car, determining the barely-buttoned floral shirt and tight trousers to be on-brand enough that the client would be happy. On his way out he grabbed the tablets that his team had given him, introduced when people started complaining that Harry couldn’t get it up. Once the excitement had worn off and Harry had had a few clients go too far, he had mostly been unable to get aroused despite his young age. All the boys do it, they had assured him, listing just about every hot young male actor and popstar that was also on the circuit.

As Harry sat in the back of the black car he stared out at the streets of Kensington, at all the huge houses filled with the filthy rich. He was quite happy with a song he had written earlier that day, and he tried to concentrate on that feeling. He was a little bit nervous, always was if he didn’t know who he was going to see. A small part of Harry found satisfaction in this part of his job. After all, he was an entertainer, a natural-born people-pleaser. He bit back a laugh as it occurred to him how fucked up that was. At least an actual escort went into it knowing what they were in for. He had been shephered into sex work as a teenager, had been so scared and so eager to please, not wanting to do the wrong thing or disappoint anyone. He hadn’t even realised how wrong it all was until he had been doing it for a year, and by then he’d been too deep in, out of options, backed up against a wall.

The car stopped, silent as ever. Harry stepped out, raking a hand through his hair to perfect his dishevelled rockstar vibe. The imposing front door opened and Harry greeted the man at the door with a dazzling smile and a hug that lingered a little too long. The man showed Harry in, offering him a drink.

An hour and a half later, Harry was gladly feeling the effects of the booze and drugs, and focused on that buzz, his edges blurring as his face was pushed into the mattress. The man came and collapsed on top of Harry, who artfully slid from under his weight.

‘Was that good for you?’ The man mumbled, out of breath and clearly uninterested in Harry’s orgasm.

‘Yeah, you fucked me so good. I loved it,’ Harry lied. He sat at the foot of the bed and started putting on his clothes. ‘You like my music then?’ He asked the man, trying for cheeky. He was always interested in people’s motivations, why regular sex workers weren’t enough for them.

‘My daughter does.’ The man slurred, clearly on the brink of passing out. Harry grimaced, and took the opportunity to leave. As he walked down the hallway, he passed a pink room with a large poster of himself pasted on the wall opposite the door. Harry felt a bit sick.

He got back in the car and was driven straight home, his driver eyeing him as he struggled to keep his head up, feeling the effects of the night. He hadn’t needed the tablet in his pocket as the man had only been interested in fucking him, but had had a couple of glasses of whisky and had snorted a line of coke with the man.

It was 3am when he got home, and as he sat in his bath and stared at the wall, he wondered when it would end. If it would end. He supposed it would peter out as he got older. Youth was beauty, beauty was sex, and sex was money. It was funny to Harry that they even bothered paying him for this: he was one of the most successful musicians around right now. He supposed that it incrimminated him; another reason why he couldn’t blab and couldn’t escape.

Thing was, Harry was so fucking lonely. Every old man that thrust into him, every rich woman that guided his head between their legs, was just a reminder of how far removed Harry was from real intimacy. He had had a few short lived relationships, some one-night stands of his own accord, but it was all fleeting. It was hard enough to date as a successful touring musician, let alone with all his extra baggage. Harry was 22, richer than anyone could ever need to be, the ‘most wanted man in the world’, and he had never had a meaningful relationship. He felt his eyelids drooping and climbed out of the bath, fingers pruned. He still didn’t feel clean, but then again, he never really did.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry was at an industry party in Mayfair. Someone from his management had told him he had the night off, so he was feeling genuinely relaxed, laughing with a group of glamourous people he vaguely knew and clutching a glass of champagne. The party was filled with famous faces, something so regular for him that it didn’t phase Harry any more. Lots of attendees were looking at Harry, something else he was used to. There were three types of looks: the first was the most common, starstruck recognition. The second was the sly looks of those that saw him as a means to an end, a way to climb a social or financial ladder. The third were the appreciative once-overs given by those in-the-know, those rich and powerful enough to be aware that Harry was available to them for the right price. These were by the far the worst looks, looks that made him feel like a slab of meat, looks that promised a night of numb pain. As Harry glanced across the party, he clocked a couple of those looks, but tonight he let them slide off him like water off a duck’s back.

One caught his eye, however. It was a man he had previously had the displeasure of spending the night with, a powerful American agent with a receding hairline and a wife who took great pleasure in watching them. Harry followed the man’s gaze to see the very same woman, her arm rubbing up and down the slim back of a man who’s back was turned to Harry. Harry felt a pang of sympathy and pity for the man, and he edged round the side of the party to try and get a glimpse of the fated person. Harry pushed through the crowd, losing sight of them for a minute, before-

Harry lost his breath for a second. The man standing with the awful woman, being petted in the way Harry was all too familiar with, was Louis Tomlinson, the brightest young actor around right now. For all Harry’s coolness, he felt a bit starstruck. Louis was devastatingly gorgeous, and in the soft light of the party he looked like he was glowing. His tanned skin gleamed, his dark hair shone, and his eyes sparkled as he laughed good-naturedly with the woman. Louis must’ve felt Harry’s eyes on him, because he turned and stared straight back. Harry felt heat rise to his cheeks, and immediately diverted his gaze like a schoolchild. He went over to the bar to get another glass of champagne as though that had been his plan all along.

Harry took his glass outside, leaning against the balcony and looking at the skyline, inhaling the fresh air. After a minute, he felt a presence next to him. 

‘Harry Styles.’ He recognised the voice immediately from the movies, and turned to face it’s owner. 

‘Louis Tomlinson,’ he replied, matching his tone. Louis flashed a grin at him. 

‘I’ve been hoping I’d bump into at one of these parties. I’m a big fan of your music.’ Harry ducked his head, smiling.

‘Thank you. I’m a big fan of yours too. I’ve seen all your movies.’ Louis chuckled. 

‘All three? I’m flattered.’ Harry laughed along, and turned on his charm.

‘Well, you made quite the...  impression on me.’ Louis had the decency to blush a little, but the smirk he aimed at Harry was positively filthy. Harry could feel the chemistry between them and decided to shoot his shot. It was rare he got the opportunity to have good sex with someone he was actually attracted to. ‘I particularly enjoyed that love scene in the first one. Maybe we could recreate it.’ Louis’ smirk grew wider, and he looked as though he was going to inch closer to Harry, but his face suddenly dropped and he stepped back. 

‘I’m sorry, I can’t.’ He sounded put-out, genuinely disappointed. Harry was confused for a minute, worried he had misread the situation, but as Louis backed away, he caught another glimpse of the couple through the window, and his stomach dropped. Louis smiled at him again as he headed back inside, and Harry watched as the couple attached themselves to him, guiding him out of the party, their hands low on his back.

Harry stared at the spot Louis had just been, overcome by sympathy for the younger man. Harry had been in his shoes just a couple of years ago. He went to rejoin the party, trying to push thoughts of Louis and that awful couple out of his mind.He ended up going home with a Victoria’s Secret model he had slept with a few times before, high and drunk again. When he woke up in the morning he felt as shitty as always, and the model had thankfully already left, a post-it note on the pillow in her place. He groaned and pushed his face into his pillow, trying to block out all light, feeling profoundly alone again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pls let me know your thoughts!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry sometimes felt like his life was a never-ending slew of parties. They all blurred into one: indistinguishable house into indistinguishable house, bland party guest to bland party guest.

Harry sometimes felt like his life was a never-ending slew of parties. They all blurred into one: indistinguishable house into indistinguishable house, bland party guest to bland party guest. It’s not that it wasn’t ever fun, because Harry found moments of enjoyment at nearly every event. Like now, for instance.

Now, Harry is at a penthouse in New York, screaming along to ‘Alone’ by Heart on a karaoke machine with Louis Tomlinson. This is the second time they’ve bumped into each other at a party, and they had ended up doing quite a lot of shots, bonding over their Northern upbringings and getting progressively rowdier.

_ ‘Till now I always got by on my own _

_ I never really cared until I met you _

_ And now it chills me to the bone _

_ How do I get you alone?’ _

Louis’ singing voice took Harry by surprise, as does his commitment to the song, the two of them drawing in an audience as they yell the words. Harry pulls out his stage persona, going so far as to fall to his knees when they go up the octave just to make Louis laugh. As they come to the end they’re breathless, laughing their heads off and clutching on to one another for support. Someone else steps up to the mic and Harry feels Louis drag him back to the bar, his hand coming into contact with a sliver of bare skin at Harry’s neck and lighting him up inside.

They touch at every chance they get, pressed against each other as they wait for their drinks, Harry sliding his hand down Louis’ back as they take shelter in a quiet corner. 

‘So, Curly, are you gonna kiss me or not?’ Louis abruptly asks. Harry blinks, taken aback by his abruptness, but then feels a smile creep across his face. Louis Tomlinson, the most gorgeous man in the world, wanted to kiss him. He reached out to stroke his hand across Louis’ cheek, feeling the sharp slope of his cheekbone and the scrape of stubble against the soft skin of his palm. Harry’s hand was large enough to cup the back of his head, his fingers tangling in Louis’ hair as he leaned in to kiss him. His lips were a little chapped and tasted of tequila, but Harry felt an unfamiliar warmth swell inside him and engulf his senses, all thoughts flying out of his head, and he deepened the kiss. 

‘Ahem.’ Their brief moment of bliss was interrupted, and Harry reluctantly turned his head to see one of his handlers. Shit. He had forgotten that he was working tonight. He felt Louis slip from his grasp, and turned to see his eyes downcast, a slight furrow between his brows. Harry went to apologise, but before he could speak, Louis surprised him.

‘Sorry, Curly. Looks like I’m not free tonight.’ Harry once again found himself stumped by Louis Tomlinson, looking between the impatient woman and the beautiful creature he had just been kissing. Louis looked back at him, still frowning: ‘I thought you knew how it was?’

‘I do, but I- that’s one of my team.’ A look of realisation dawned on Louis’ face, his eyebrows shooting up. 

‘Shit, we must have the same people looking after us!’ Harry couldn’t help but snort at the phrase “looking after.” 

‘I wonder which one of us they want then,’ he drawled. His momentary surprise had quickly waned, replaced by the familiar emptiness. The magic of their kiss had been taken away, and he was reminded that Louis had to do the same shit he did. The woman made her way over to them, bringing with her a sense of dread.

‘I’m glad you two have met. We’ve got something a bit different tonight.’ Harry had heard that before, and braced himself for the worst.

‘Someone very important wants to spend some time with you.  Both of you.’ Harry felt his jaw drop, and turned to see Louis’ face mirroring his own shock. They never spoke plainly, always used coded language about  meeting  people and getting to know  people ,  but it was clear what they wanted from him and Louis tonight. Harry had never done this before, had not even heard of people being asked to work together like this. The client must be hugely powerful in order to get both Harry and Louis, or at least filthy rich and friends with someone powerful. Harry swallowed, feeling suddenly sober, and turned back to the waiting woman. 

‘Okay. Just give us a sec to freshen up.’ He gave Louis a meaningful look and got up to head to the bathroom, the smaller man following behind him. Once the door had closed behind them, Harry locked it and turned to study Louis. He didn’t seem as shaken by the news as Harry felt. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah? I mean, it might be kinda fun. Make it more fuckin bearable.’ Louis waggled his eyebrows, giving Harry a once-over. Harry smiled at him, but couldn’t help but feel he was missing the point. 

‘I really want to have sex with you Louis, but this isn’t exactly how I wanted it to happen. And I’m not- I don’t know if I want you to see me like that. We don’t even know who it is anyway, what they want us to do...’ Louis reached out and grabbed Harry’s hand, demanding eye contact from him.

‘Harry. It’s not like we have a say in it. So let’s just fucking grin and bear it, yeah? Make the best of a bad situation and all that.’ Harry sucked in a breath and nodded, accepting their fate.

‘Okay. Maybe afterwards I can take you on like, an actual date or something? For drinks or whatever.’ Louis smirked again and pulled Harry towards him, drawing their lips together for a filthy kiss. They quickly broke apart, aware their presence was expected elsewhere. Harry felt light-headed, almost dizzy, a combination of Louis and the party favours. He normally preferred to feel that way going in, hisreality slightly fuzzy, but right now he wanted to be more alert. As they made their way down to the waiting car, he tried to will himself sober, tried not to notice the soft curve of Louis’ waist and his unbearably tight trousers as he walked in front of Harry. 

The drive there was silent. Harry kept glancing at Louis, trying to gage his headspace, but he was staring out of the window at the passing lights as they blurred into one. Harry’s palms were sweaty so he wiped them on his jeans, trying to play it off and not give away his nerves.He hadn’t hit it off with someone like this in such a long time, and had thought it might be good that Louis was in the same situation as him. Similar schedules, similar social lives, same duties. Of course his management had to go and fuck this up for him as well. No part of his life could be untainted. He and Louis could’ve had some sort of mutually beneficial agreement- a friends with benefits deal, or maybe even something more. But they were being thrown straight into the lion’s den together before they had even had a chance to work anything out.

Harry supposed he had been stupid to think there was a single aspect of his life that could be private. His life was a spectacle, something for the enjoyment of others. Even his body didn’t belong to him. Now his and Louis’ relationship was going to become a spectacle. Their first sexual encounter was about to be a charade, a performance for someone else. He just hoped they would make it through the evening, that they could try and find something real afterwards.

The car pulled up outside a skyscraper and they were ushered into a private lift, which quickly projected them up towards the clouds. Louis finally looked at him and gave him a reassuring smile. 

‘Game faces, yeah Curly?’ Harry forced a smile back:

‘Let’s play make-believe.’

The doors dinged open, revealing a swanky penthouse overlooking Manhattan. Harry looked around, taking in the art and furniture that might as well have been dripping with money. Louis sniffed next to him, turning up his nose. Harry’s lip curled in agreement. Some people had more money than sense, and often the living spaces he ended up in looked more like museums than homes.

‘Well isn’t it my lucky day?’ A voice rang out from their right, and they turned to see a woman leaning against a doorframe. She looked to be in her fourties but had clearly spent a lot on maintaining her youth, her forehead and cheeks just on the wrong side of smooth so as to give away the Botox. She was dressed in a silk dressing gown, which Harry internally rolled his eyes at. What a cliche. But he turned on the charm, plastering on a well-practiced smile.

‘It looks to me like we’re the lucky ones. I’m Harry, and this is Louis.’ She smiled, drinking them in with her eyes. 

‘My, my. I sure feel like the cat that got the cream; Two for the price of one.’ She slinked towards them. ‘I’m Sylvia.’ This time it was Louis who responded.

‘It’s an absolute pleasure, darling. And how do we know you?’

‘I’m good friends with one of your employers. He let me know you boys would be interested in coming over one night. Now, why don’t you sit down and I can fix you a drink?’ They followed her to a sitting area, the white sofas beautiful but deeply uncomfortable. As she was turned around to pour them some whiskey, Louis waggled his eyebrows at Harry, making him giggle before covering it with a cough. He gave Louis a stern look in response. 

‘Behave,’ he warned under his breath. Louis went a little pink, and Harry arched an eybrow back at him, pleased. Suddenly a drink was placed in front of him, and he remembered where he was. He smiled at Sylvia, and patted the sofa next to him. ‘Why don’t we get a litttle more comfortable?’ he suggested, lowering the register of his voice. He had found through trial and error that it was better for him to make the moves, as it gave him a bit more control, and normally he could get it all over with quicker. 

As she settled next to him, he placed a hand on her thigh. They made more inane suggestive small talk, and he edged further up, his fingers brushing her robe out the way to expose more skin. Harry glanced at Louis, and was surprised to find his pupils blown, gaze tracking Harry’s hand.

‘Louis, darling, why don’t you sit down over here with us?’ She asked, voice lilting but ragged in the edges. Louis came and sat on her other side, placing his hand to mirror Harry’s.She sighed and leaned back into the sofa, and Harry made eye contact with Louis again. He looked just as beautiful as he had earlier in the night, and Harry wanted nothing more than to reach out and grab him. He seemed so close and yet so far, Sylvia a mountain between them.

Her hand grabbed the back of Louis’ neck, and Harry watched as she pulled him in and attacked his mouth. Louis kept his eyes open, looking at Harry all the while. Harry smirked, and finally edged his fingers below her panties, her thighs preemptively clenching on him. She moaned, and suddenly Harry was being pulled down for a sloppy kiss. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Louis taking his shirt off, exposing his golden chest, and Harry again wanted nothing more than to push her off and put his hands on Louis, explore this new expanse of skin with his tongue. She apparently had the same idea, and went to do just that, igniting a jealousy in Harry he rarely felt. He tugged off his own clothes until he was just left in his briefs, and dropped to his knees on the floor, pulling her legs apart and beginning to work kisses up her thigh. He felt hands on his head, and went to remove her underwear when-

*ding*

‘Honey, I’m home!’ A male voice broke through from the hallway, and Sylvia’s legs snapped shut immediately. Harry was pushed aside as she went to stand up, trying to secure her robe.

‘Get dressed!’ She hissed at them, stumbling away and towards the voice. ‘Darling! I thought you were in LA? I have some friends over.’ Harry scrambled to put his clothes back on, Louis frantically rebuttoning his shirt next to him. They managed to look decent just in time for a middle-aged man in an expensive suit to walk in, nodding at them stiffly and surveying the scene.

‘They were actually just leaving, weren’t you boys?’ Sylvia intonated, a plea to them to get out.

‘Ah yeah, we were just about to head off. Cheers for the drink though love.’ Louis gestured at their untouched beverages, and Harry stifled a giggle. The two of them shuffled out to the lift, presumably leaving the couple to have it out about the obvious situation he had walked in on. Once they were in the lift, Harry and Louis made eye contact. A beat, then Harry couldn’t help himself.

‘Do you think we’ll still get payed?’

Louis’ lip wobbled, and then suddenly they were laughing hysterically. By the time they reached the ground floor Harry was wiping tears from his eyes, and they walked out into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pls let me know your thoughts and feelings! I’ve actually got a plot mapped out, so make sure to subscribe!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry couldn’t stop thinking about Louis. It had been about a week since their night with Sylvia had been interrupted, and he had barely been able to keep the smile off his lips since.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry I’ve left it so long. I’ve just been stressed out and not super motivated. I do have a full plot mapped out so hopefully I will feel inspired again soon!

Harry couldn’t stop thinking about Louis. It had been about a week since their night with Sylvia had been interrupted, and he had barely been able to keep the smile off his lips since. Louis had transformed what should’ve been another night of misery into... fun? Harry couldn’t remember the last time he had felt that way. When he and Louis had been kissing at the party, he had felt the sparkling promise of good, real, sex (a rarity for him). When they had gone to the woman’s apartment, Harry had thought that opportunity had been taken from him. But the night had become like the most fucked foreplay ever, and to his surprise, Harry had ended up having more fun than he had in a long time. They had been texting ever since, flirting wildly and making empty promises of drinks, dates and escapes.

Now, Harry had left the studio and was on the way to see one of his regular clients, Peter. He was a politician, yet mild-mannered and polite, and Harry normally didn’t mind him. Twice a month, Harry would go to his Bel-Air mansion, where a home cooked meal would be waiting. He was deep in the closet, fake wife and everything, and Harry assumed he wanted to escape from that. So they would sit down, eat, make small talk, maybe watch a movie. Almost like role-playing a normal relationship. Then, assisted by one of his pills, Harry would fuck him. 

Today, it was risotto. Harry strongly suspected that Peter had staff who prepared these meals, but he praised the man’s cooking, leaning into the puppy eyes and making him blush. Peter was sweet, and seemed genuinely interested in Harry’s career and well-being, inquiring about his new album as they shared a bottle of white wine. Harry didn’t feel the need to get that drunk with Peter, being one of the more bearable of his clients. 

However, Harry felt absolutely no sexual attraction to Peter. Zero. He could normally muster some sort of feeling towards clients, but with Peter it was always an award worthy performance. Thing was, that almost made Harry feel dirtier. It wasn’t helped by the fact that Peter was always so into it, looking at Harry like a wet dream come to life who was simultaneously hanging the moon. Peter always came in about two minutes flat, apologising and then taking Harry in his mouth. 

Tonight was much the same. They sat on the couch, Harry swinging his arm around the man as some trash TV played in the background. As they watched, Peter absent-mindedly rubbed his thigh, and Harry’s mind drifted back to Louis. He itched to check his phone, to see if Louis had sent him another dumb meme or maybe another picture of him on the set of his new movie. Peter leaned into his side, angling his face up, and Harry leaned in, granting him a kiss. His lips were too dry, but Harry swiped his tongue, deepening it. All the while, he thought of kissing Louis at that party, the dancing of champagne on his lips and the fluttering of nerves in his tummy. 

Peter went for Harry’s fly, and Harry moves back, letting him pull his clothes off. He goes through the motions, taking the lead like he knows Peter likes. He plays his role perfectly, mechanically, all the while distracted by blue eyes that twinkle in the back of his mind. After a few minutes, seemingly out of the blue, Harry comes. He feels Peter move beneath him in surprise, and pulls out, blinking out of his trance.

‘Uh- sorry Peter, I... I just...’ Harry is dumbfounded. His pill gets him hard, but he never normally comes without lots of encouragement, and they had barely started. 

‘It’s fine, Harry. I’m flattered, actually.’ Peter is looking coyly at him, clearly taking it as a personal compliment, and Harry encourages it, leaning in to finish him off, mind racing the whole time. 

On the car ride home, Harry ruminates, trying to assign some meaning to this. He hasn’t climaxed so quickly in a long time, and it was just because he was thinking about Louis. Well, Louis’ eyes. He can’t help but laugh at himself, and his driver’ eyes flick to him suspiciously in the rear view mirror. Their journies are normally awkward at best and empty at worst.

Back home, in the bath, Harry further tries to work out what the afternoon means. He had felt so damaged, romantically and sexually; so broken as a person. But Louis had come into his life and it was like he was coming back into himself. And the fact that just the thought of Louis had made him come, in the middle of what was one of the most boring sexual encounters of his life? It was exciting, a promise of what could be. Harry could be feel normal again with Louis. More than normal, even. Alive. Electric. Excited.


End file.
